Judy had texted me when they left—I’d been in line at Downtown Gyro, so Elliot hadn’t been alone for very long. Evenso, I was extremely grateful when I carried the food into the house and Elliot called a hello.
I set the food down and went into the living room, bending over where he lay propped on the couch, an extra-large ice pack over his shoulder and chest. He was shivering slightly—he always did when he put the ice on—but the surgeon said it was important that he do it for at least fifteen minutes every forty-five minutes—fifteen on, forty-five off, fifteen on, and so on.
“Welcome back,” he said, a small smile curving one side of his mouth. “Do you get Monday off since you worked the whole weekend?”
I bent and kissed his forehead. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
He brightened. “Really?”
“Mmhmm.” I gave him another kiss. “Hungry?”
“Fuck, yes.”
I laughed softly and went back to the kitchen. Although he didn’t swear even remotely as often as Hart did, every now and then he’d drop an f-bomb for no reason, and I was reminded that he and Hart really were best friends.
I put together a plate with his food and brought it to him, also refilling the bottle of water he’d drunk, before making up my own plate and grabbing a beer out of the fridge to go with it.
I settled on the far side of the couch, letting Elliot put his legs on my thighs, although I put my plate on his shins. “Who’s playing?” I asked, referring to the football game on the TV.
“Detroit and Buffalo,” he replied. “Packers are on later.”
“Who do they play?”
“Tampa. The Battle of the Bays.”
I looked over at him. “The what?”
“Battle of the Bays. Tampa Bay. Green Bay.”
I took a bite of the salmon gyro. It was pretty decent. Not like I remembered the lamb ones being, but I couldn’t eat lamb, so…
“Why do sports teams have to turn everything into a Thing?”
Elliot snorted, then swallowed a mouthful of food. “A thing?”
“No—aThing. Capitalized. The Battle of the Bays, every time they play each other in a regular old game. Like, there’s noneedto make it a Thing.”
He barked out a laugh. “Only a non-sports fan would say something like that.”
I winked at him. “Guilty as charged. But this particular sportsball is growing on me.”
Elliot set his plate in his lap so that he could flip me off with his good hand, and we both laughed.
A few minutes passed in silent chewing before I decided I really needed to ask him about Noah and Lulu.
“I—um.”
The problem was that I wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up.
“What?” Elliot asked, struggling a little to pick up a gyro one-handed.
“Do you want me to cut that or something?” I asked.
“No, and I don’t want you to change the subject, either,” he replied, although his tone was light, a little teasing.
I felt my neck flush a little. “Oh. So. Christmas.”
“Do you not celebrate?” he asked.
